Part 1: I Was Willing to Investigate

Series One · Part One of 20

Mixed Media Collage by Melina Gerosa Bellows

The Joy Experiment · Part 1 of 20 — the year a skeptical journalist set out to debunk manifestation and accidentally reinvented her life. New here? Start at Part 1.

Nearing sixty, I found myself staring at a blank slate.

There was no drama. I wasn’t stranded on Everest with two freeze-dried peanuts, nor was I having a Hollywood-style breakdown involving champagne and questionable decisions. It was worse, it was quiet and devoid of distraction.

I’d simply arrived at one of those nebulous moments in life when the old story had ended and my foot was tapping for the new chapter to begin.

My children left for college. I was preparing to sell the house I’d raised them in. As the final years of tuition appeared on the horizon, I realized that my hard-charging career as an executive had loosened into a situation where I was my own boss for creative projects of my own invention— which sounds like freedom, and was, except for the two questions that started following me around like psychic cartoon hoodlums: Am I earning my keep? Am I being productive enough?

For the first time in decades, however, nobody seemed to need anything from me. Which sounds relaxing until it happens to you. That left me with: what did I need from me? I was much more practiced at telling other people what they needed than figuring it out for myself.

What did I need? The closest I could get was a desire to feel excitement about this next stretch of my life. I’d worked long and hard at being successful, and was grateful. But what I wanted to feel was a bit of zing.

I searched T.J. Maxx, The Real Real, and Facebook Marketplace, but no zing.

Fortunately, I am a journalist.

For forty years, I’ve made a living asking questions — of movie stars and scientists and CEOs, of bestselling authors and adventurers, and the occasional person who seemed to have wandered in from another dimension. Investigating what makes other people tick is the one thing I’ve always known how to do. Two years ago, for the first time, I turned that curiosity on myself.

I didn’t call it a reinvention project, I called it reporting.

Officially, I was investigating manifestation — the wildly popular, scientifically suspect idea that you can think your way into the life you want that was populating my Instagram feed. I was skeptical. I’m a reporter; skepticism comes with the job. But I was also genuinely curious whether there was anything real underneath the Instagram gloss.

I set out to manifest one million dollars. Why not? Let’s see if this thing works. Unofficially, I was investigating something less concrete but more precious: whether it was possible, at this point in my life, to build a life that felt more joyful, meaningful, and alive.

The assignment began innocently enough. An author named Suzanne Eder appeared in my social media feed. Martha Beck was recommending Eder’s book What You Want Wants You, which I downloaded on Audible.

A few weeks later, I pitched a series to AARP on the science and spirituality of manifestation. What started as a few articles stretched out over a year.

For inspiration, I wrote myself a million-dollar check and tucked in my wallet. I realize this sounds concerning. For now, just know that I considered it “research.”

What followed was a year of interviews, experiments, coincidences, wrong turns, and times that made my kids’ eyes roll.

There was the keynote speech in Spain, where I nearly threw up in front of 300 people. And the Zoom call where Deepak Chopra calmly told me the law of attraction “was total nonsense.” There was also a lonely Valentine’s Day where I found a note-less heart-shaped rock at my front door.

Yet somewhere along the way, something unexpected happened. I began to change. Not in the way that Instagram promised, but enough that without a doubt, I was starting my next chapter.

I learned to pay attention.

If you’re standing in front of a blank slate of your own, and are uncertain of your own next chapter, come along.

P.S. I love hearing from readers! Please tell me in the comments what you think or if you’ve had a similar experience. (And if you’re so included, hit the heart button—it helps Apothecary find its people.